


Too Much Truth

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [25]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Kissing, Boys Kissing, Choices, Crossover Pairings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Mistakes, Secret Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony tries to keep Quinn from doing something he'll regret, with only limited results.  Meantime Clint and Coulson are finally face to face and Clint is forced to acknowledge that the final choice in this triangle belongs to him and him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Entries are going to start coming closer together as we barrel towards the end, so when you get to the end of this part don't hate me!

They weren’t surprised to see him. The guards on duty at the main entrance held him until the officer of the day could get there, but there were no weapons pointed in his direction and everything remained perfectly civil. “Director Fury requests thirty minutes of your time,” the woman told him, her tone respectful, even as Clint recognized the diplomatic niceties in play. “He said to tell you that you won’t be delayed beyond that.”

He didn’t argue with any of it. Clint told himself it was because he didn’t want to give them an excuse; that nothing could be allowed to interfere with him confronting Coulson, hearing his side of the story. The truth was that the calm he was feeling now was neither natural nor healthy. He suspected his therapist would have had a few choice words for what he was about to do given how close to the edge he probably was, but as long as it got him where he needed to go he would deal with the fallout later.

He was taken to a small conference room, given his choice of coffee, tea or water, and told that Director Fury would be with him “momentarily”.

The wait wasn’t long or particularly difficult. Clint resisted the urge to prop his feet up on the polished wood of the conference table, instead clinging to that state of calm that helped him wait hours on a rooftop for a shot that might never come – the skill that beyond all others made him who and what he was.

“Thank you for not making a scene.”

Clint hadn’t realized he’d zoned out, until Fury’s voice invaded his awareness. “Didn’t want to give you the satisfaction,” he said coolly, looking up at last. He was surprised to see Agent Hill enter the room in Fury’s wake, but a moment later realized that if anyone in SHIELD knew what was really going on besides Fury it would be her. “Of course if you’re going to try and stop me from seeing him, that could all change. What do you want, Director?”

Fury took a seat at the opposite end of the table from Clint. Agent Hill walked around the table; Clint tensed at her approach, but relaxed again when she passed him a tablet computer with information already up on the screen. “I want you to understand exactly what you’re going to be seeing,” Fury said as Hill returned to his side. “Because it’s you, he’s going to want to behave as if everything is fine. It’s not.”

“I know about his heart attack,” Clint said, scanning the information. He’d figured there was a chance it wouldn’t be as bad as Tony had said.

He hadn’t expected it to be worse. _It really is a miracle he survived._

“This is going to be an emotionally charged situation for both of you,” Fury continued, evidently deciding not to pursue how Clint had acquired his information. “He’s not going to care about his own well-being, so I’m going to have to insist that you do.”

Snorting softly, Clint slid the tablet back across the table. “I’m not here to hurt him or get some kind of payback. I just want to see him.”  
******************  
 _He’s here. He knows._ Phil tried to drag his focus back to the report he’d been reading before Fury had alerted him that Clint was on site, but he couldn’t seem to push his brain past those two critical facts.

Coulson knew he was going to have a lot to answer for – the number of pieces Clint had managed to fit together on his own would tell him how bad this was likely to get. Some of it he could – and would – pawn off on the SHIELD Director – it had been Fury’s decision to begin the lie in the first place, Fury’s orders that had barred Clint from coming to Coulson’s funeral in order to say a proper good-bye.

The rest of it, unfortunately, was all on him. _This is why none of your relationships ever lasted more than a year or two,_ he thought, finally pushing away from the desk they’d given him with a small sigh. _You’re no good at them._

He knew what he needed to do. He needed to see Clint, apologize for keeping him in the dark for so long, and wish him well in the new life he’d made for himself. _Civilized and in control._ Fury had been very clear on what would happen if neither of them could agree to keep things from escalating, and Coulson didn’t want to see the kind of demons an emotionally overwrought response would unleash in Clint.

A firm, slow knock made him flinch. “Just a minute,” he called, pushing to his feet and trying to will himself calm. _You can do this._

Intellectually he knew that his heart hadn’t literally skipped a beat, but when he opened the door and Clint was standing directly on the other side, Coulson felt for a moment like he was dying all over again. “Hello, Barton.”

In all the years they’d worked together, he’d never seen the unflappable Hawkeye so completely and totally at a loss for words. He was rooted to the spot, eyes huge, every line of his body taught, every muscle quivering. Coulson’s first instinct was to put his hands on Barton’s shoulders, reassure him that he wasn’t hallucinating, but he caught sight of the guards that had escorted him and the medical personnel that had come up with a reason to be in the vicinity just in time.

“Why don’t you come in?” he said finally, before the attention they were drawing could cross the line into completely ridiculous. “I imagine you have quite a few questions.” He stepped back, gesturing the other man in.

Struggling to maintain control as Hawkeye brushed past him, Coulson closed and secured the door. He’d barely started to turn and ‘face the music’ as it were, when Barton lunged at him. He had a split second to wonder if he was about to be hit, and then his back was against the door and Clint was molded full length to his front – kissing him fiercely, as if both their lives depended on it.   
***********************  
Raw instinct drove him forward, leading with a kiss instead of a closed fist – but it was hints of the rage he was only barely holding in check that led him to grab Coulson’s wrists as the man he had loved for longer than he could remember reached for him. Growling softly, he forced his handler’s arms back away from him, until they were pinned to the door as well.

 _Mine._ It was as dark a feeling as he’d ever known inside himself, and the fact that Coulson wasn’t fighting against a hold he could have easily broken was fuel to the fire. They loved each other. They were supposed to have been together. He’d wanted Coulson, and Coulson had wanted him back – that was how this was all supposed to work!

 _”Just promise me you’ll put yourself first.”_ Memory of Quinn’s plea just before he’d left Avengers Tower brought him up short, just as he was about to push things too far.

Not that Coulson would have minded – that much was heartbreakingly obvious. As Clint pulled back far enough for them to be able to see each other properly, he realized that the older man’s eyes were nearly black – irises almost completely swallowed by his pupils. There was also a warmth to them that he’d never thought he’d see again, and a faint bemusement at his asset’s impulsive, over-the-top behavior. “Curious choice for a greeting,” he said – his voice soft and faintly breathless. “I approve.”

Reality came crashing in around Clint. “It was either that or punch you,” he admitted, pulling away at last. As soon as he’d backed up to a more comfortable distance, Coulson relaxed – stepping away from the door and settling his clothes. Clint felt his heart ache watching the movements – all the little mannerisms he’d catalogued over the years until he knew them better than he knew his own. “Dammit Phil,” he breathed at last. “How? Why?”

“Sit down,” Coulson said, gesturing to one of the nearby chairs. “I’ll tell you everything I can.”  
************************  
Quinn literally could not remember the last time waking up had hurt this badly. The only blessing he had to cling to was that somebody had remembered to draw the heavy curtains in the bedroom – otherwise he was sure he would have just curled up under the covers and willed himself to die.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” The voice in the darkness wasn’t Clint’s, but it was familiar enough that Quinn couldn’t be bothered struggling for the energy to defend himself. “Bucket’s by the side of the bed – in easy reach.”

Mention of a bucket started a chain reaction he couldn’t stop – rolling over onto his side, Quinn leaned over the edge of the bed – fumbling for the plastic receptacle just in time before he forcibly emptied the contents of his stomach. _Alcohol poisoning,_ his brain helpfully supplied. Specifically Scotch. _Really good, really expensive…_

“You’re a son of a bitch,” he groaned as Tony sat on the edge of the bed next to him and swapped the bucket for a towel. “You know that, right?”

“Needs must, my dear JB,” Tony said calmly Quinn tried desperately to calm his complaining stomach and ride out the throbbing in his head as Stark went to the bathroom to take care of the bucket. He was dimly aware that calling your boss a son of a bitch to his face wasn’t exactly compatible with a long and healthy career, but bad as he felt Quinn was finding it difficult to care.

He’d managed to sit up by the time Stark returned, clutching his forehead with both hands to try and keep his brain from exploding in his skull. “You did this to me on purpose?” It was half question, half accusation.

Tony shrugged, resuming his seat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t force it down your throat, if that’s what you mean. I did figure making yourself sick was probably a better option than doing something you couldn’t take back.”

It took Quinn a moment to understand what Tony was referring to. Just the act of reviewing those few wispy things he could recall from last night was more pain than he was prepared to deal with. “I gave him my word, Tony,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I wouldn’t have done that to him. I wouldn’t hurt him like that.” Moments after Clint had left to confront Coulson, Quinn had confessed to Stark that him proactively moving out was likely the only thing that would keep Hawkeye from worrying himself into a breakdown over what he should do.

Stark lay a hand on his shoulder, and Quinn instinctively leaned into the touch and the comfort and support it promised. “Pepper swears by chamomile tea in situations like this. You need vitamins, aspirin and as much fluid as you can stomach.” Looking up into the handsome face, Quinn nodded to show that he understood. “Get yourself cleaned up and I’ll put some water on to boil.”  
*********************  
“This is insane. You understand that, right?” Less than twenty-four hours ago, the idea that Phil Coulson was alive was a distracting impossibility he’d spun for himself out of a series of apparently unrelated coincidences. A scenario where Coulson was alive, and had been _stalking_ he and Quinn for months was so far outside Clint’s understanding of the world that it had never even ghosted through his mind.

“It wasn’t stalking. I was gathering information.” Clint suspected he wasn’t imagining the defensive edge in Coulson’s response, which was another twist in the fabric of his reality. As long as he’d known the man, Phil had never apologized for his personal behavior. His professional decisions yes – when the need called for it. His personal behavior…never.

“You should have told me.” Clint was barely resisting the urge to touch his lips, lose himself in the sense memory of Coulson’s mouth on his – the taste, the scent…the _life_ that saturated the moment. The fleeting perfection of it was easier to deal with than the nightmare that was now unrolling in front of him. “You owed me at least that much after…after everything.”

Silence stretched between them for a seeming eternity. “You’d moved on,” Coulson said finally. “By the time I was out of the coma you’d moved on. I needed to know who this man was, and whether or not…”

“He was good for me?” Clint finished, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I’m surprised Fury didn’t brief you.”

“He did,” Coulson said, maintaining that impossible calm Clint had always valued so much in the face of his own emotional turmoil. “Not surprisingly, his view of the situation turns out to be only a small part of the story.”

Clint didn’t realize that he’d been waiting for Coulson to lecture him about his relationship with Quinn until he…didn’t. “So…what now?” he asked, his throat raw with all the screaming he wanted to do, but couldn’t.

“Now?” Coulson blew out a quiet breath, and Clint saw a brief crack in his composure. “I don’t know. You’re starting to lose that haunted look you’ve had as long as I’ve known you. You laugh for the joy of it, not because you’re having fun at someone else’s expense. There’s a smile on your face when no one else is looking, and I’d have to be an idiot to think that anyone or anything but Jonah Quinn is responsible for putting it there.” He abruptly fell silent.

“And?” Clint prompted. As conjunctions went, it had been pretty well defined even without having been spoken aloud.

A small smile hovered at the edge of Coulson’s lips. “And,” he conceded, “I can’t seem to forget a promise I made to you in New Mexico once upon a time.” He dropped his gaze, looking studiously at his hands. “I don’t seem to want to.”  
************************  
His promised tea was steeping on the table when Quinn finally managed to make it out of the shower. Tony had taken the chair opposite his, and was using a third chair to prop his feet up. “You look…” he said, giving Quinn a quick once-over, “actually worse. I didn’t think that was going to be possible.”

“Started thinking about Clint,” Quinn said miserably, taking his own chair and cupping his hands around the mug. A small pile of pills in assorted shapes and colors was already on the table with a glass of water. “Wondering if I should have insisted he meet Coulson on neutral ground.” Taking the first pill, he put it in his mouth and chased it with a swallow of water.

“You’re worried about Fury?” Stark asked. When Quinn nodded, he shook his head. “Don’t be. He talks big, and okay he might be hoping that Coulson can lure Clint back to the fold, but he’s not going to try and twist this to his advantage. Coulson’s too important to him.”

 _Everybody’s got a stake in this,_ Quinn thought, forcing himself to keep downing the pills. By the time he reached the bottom of the pile, his tea was cool enough to risk a sip. “Do you think I did the right thing by insisting he go alone?”

Tony took a drink of his own tea before answering, his expression contemplative. “I _think_ ,” he said, “that for a professional bad-ass, you spend a hell of a lot of time worrying about the man you love and twisting yourself into knots trying to make sure he’s okay.” He paused, taking another drink. “I hope he does the same for you.”

Quinn settled back in his own chair, thinking of those times that Clint had been his rock – holding him free of the chaos of his past. “His problems are more visible than mine,” he admitted, “but he’s made my life better in dozens of different ways. I’m happier with who I am and what I’m doing than I’ve ever been, and Clint Barton is at the heart of all of it.”

“So why did you push him to go alone?” When Tony had given them the confirmation that Coulson was alive, Clint had taken it for granted that Quinn would be coming with him to confront his former handler. Quinn had refused.

His reasons came easily to hand. “Clint’s driving force in his life is his need to feel safe. If I hold on too tight then I’m restraining him…imprisoning him…and that triggers all kinds of demons that are best left buried.”

Stark pushed himself to his feet with a soft groan. “You think you can stomach some food?” Quinn nodded, grateful that Tony didn’t feel the need to snark about him restraining Clint. He definitely wasn’t up to navigating that particular minefield right now, especially since the more explosive parts of it were the reason why once the dust settled Clint wasn’t going to choose him. 

“You’re not a monster, you know.” Tony had come around the table to stand next to Quinn’s chair. “I’ve seen plenty of them in my day, and none of them look or act like you.”

Overwhelmed, Quinn met his boss’s gaze, his own eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “You don’t know the kind of things I’ve done.”

The billionaire snorted. “Give me a little credit. You really don’t think I had you fully checked out before I let Clint bring you in here? Definitely before I offered you the job.” He reached down and took Quinn’s hand. “Based on what I’ve seen these past thirty-six hours or so, I know you better than you know yourself, and what I know is worth knowing.” His brilliant smile widened a bit. “Besides – that martyr thing only works when you’re trying to catch the love of your life – trust me. You’re well past that.”

Something shifted abruptly in the air between them. Heart pounding, Quinn tightened his grip on Stark’s hand and surged to his feet. There was a split second when he saw Tony’s eyes widen in surprise, and then Quinn pulled him in close and kissed him.  
**************************  
He was going to hell. People had been saying it for years, and here and now he had the proof. Tony didn’t resist as Quinn pressed into him, deepening the kiss and setting lines of fire racing along his nerve endings to pool low in his body. It was fierce, wild and passionate, and pushed nearly every one of Tony’s buttons.

One problem: _you’re not that guy._ Tempting though the moment was, he wasn’t that guy and Tony knew he couldn’t let Quinn be that guy either. Pushing his fingers into the damp fall of Quinn’s hair, Tony made a fist and pulled hard. “Quinn, stop.” Swallowing hard, forcing back his own surging desires, Tony forced the ex-mercenary back until their eyes met.

Realization of what he’d done flooded Quinn’s pale eyes – he took another step backwards and Tony let him go. “Oh God, that was…I don’t…Tony, I’m so sorry.”

Stark tilted his head and regarded Quinn carefully, trying to decide how honest he should be. “I’m not,” he said finally, as calmly and matter of factly as he could manage with most of the blood in his body still heading south and every scrap of hormones he possessed cheering for him to shut up already and stop worrying about doing the right thing. “It’s…” He swallowed hard, struggling for some measure of control before meeting Quinn’s gaze again. “It’s nice to know these feelings aren’t necessarily the product of my all-consuming narcissism.”

He wouldn’t have thought a man like Quinn could blush, but even at a distance and in uncertain light Tony could see his cheeks flame red. “Tony…”

“Don’t.” He held up a hand to cut Quinn off. “Let me finish, please. I’m not sorry we kissed. I’m never going to be sorry that you were honest with me about your feelings.” He smiled ruefully. “Truthfully, right now I’m caught somewhere between ‘wow’ and ‘please sir may I have some more’, but I know this isn’t what you want.” He paused. “ _I’m_ not who you want.”

Miserable all over again, Quinn sank back into his chair. “The sad thing is that you are,” he admitted. “Eliot called me on it a couple weeks ago. I told him he was full of shit, but the truth is I’ve been crushing on you for a while.” He laughed bitterly, throwing up his hands. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re amazing! You’re one of the richest, smartest, most powerful men in the world, and yet every time Clint or I’ve needed something, you’ve been right there.”

“Well,” Tony said, leaning back against the edge of the table. “Gotta admit – I was expecting you to blame the Scotch or the hangover…not act as though us ending up like this was a foregone conclusion.”

“I’ll blame whatever you want,” Quinn said, “if you’ll let me pretend that never happened. Tony…”

Stark bowed his head for a moment, thinking over the situation. The cold, hard truth was that he hadn’t pushed Quinn away as fast as he should have because deep down he’d wanted the kiss or something like it to happen for an unforgivably long time. “If you had a choice between Clint or me, who would you choose?”

“Clint,” Quinn answered, without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re a dream, Tony Stark. You’re an ideal. Clint is my reality. That’s where my home is.”  
************************  
“If you decide you want to come back to SHIELD we can figure something out.” Coulson was on his feet, hands clasped in front of him as he shifted back and forth – clearly resisting the urge to pace. “As things stand now, though, there’s nothing in the way of us being together.”

“Except my current relationship.” A surge of anger at Coulson’s easy dismissal of the facts brought Clint to his feet. “You remember Quinn, yes?”

The look of surprise on Coulson’s face was quickly masked, but not fast enough to escape Clint’s notice. “When you…” Coulson began, and then stopped. He blew out a quiet breath, pulling himself back together. “Do you want to do this?”

Clint’s chest tightened painfully. “Of course I do,” he answered. “But you need to understand that it’s just as complicated now as it was back in New Mexico. I have a life with Quinn. We’re happy together. I…I love him.”

Coulson was silent for a long moment, then his chin lifted slightly – his expression challenging. “Do you love me?”

The archer drew a shaky breath. “You know I do.”

“Come here.” It was softly spoken, but unmistakably a command. Clint obeyed nevertheless, letting Coulson draw him into a light embrace. They kissed, tentatively at first and then when Clint didn’t pull away another kiss was harder, more insistent. “I would make you happy,” Coulson murmured, hugging him close. “I would give you everything you needed, everything you wanted, if you would just give me a chance.”

“It’s not that easy,” Clint said, although what Coulson was offering him was arguably the easiest thing in the world. “Phil, I…”

Coulson swallowed audibly, pulling back until they were just inside of arm’s length of each other. “I do hear what you’re saying, Clint. Maybe dying has made me selfish – I don’t know.” Clint’s eyes widened as he felt the ultimatum coming. “I know you have a good thing with Quinn. I’ve done my research – I even tried to see if he could be seduced into betraying you. The old me would have bowed out of this gracefully, told you to go be with the man who obviously makes you happy, and gone on with my life.”

His eyes were blazing with need and intent now, and Clint was suddenly afraid. “I was robbed,” Coulson went on. “ _We_ were robbed, and I’m sorry if I’m making this harder on you, but I don’t _want_ you to stay with him. I want you to choose me.” His voice broke as Clint pulled away from him.

“What about what I want?” Clint asked, panic overwhelming his last vestiges of calm and control.

“I’m offering you everything you want,” Coulson said, his voice finally showing strain. “Clint…”

Clint felt the last shreds of his own self-control tear away. “Everything except Quinn.”


End file.
